


Blades in the Night

by cest_what



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vigilante, Gen, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cest_what/pseuds/cest_what
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuji Syusuuke can make knives fly like swallows, glittering silver death. (Vigilante AU, mostly gen.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blades in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta scrtkpr.
> 
> Originally posted to [LJ](http://cest-what.livejournal.com/11460.html) July 2008.

Sometimes you're not even sure yourself whether what you do is magic. You know that you can feel the lines of energy in the air, feel the way the wind changes, the slightest pressure dipping and sparkling around you. You can feel the way the knife will fly: perfect, supernatural, deadly.

It flies now. A dip like a swallow, a glide, and flashing death back towards you as it falls. You twist your wrist and catch the handle, stepping back to absorb the momentum, body moving without conscious direction. The blade shimmers for a moment, spinning in your fingers. Then you look away, tossing it to your other hand and back again.

"Nya, Fujiko," somebody says from behind you, "you're scary when you do that!"

You tuck the knife away, one of many hidden in your clothes, and turn to face him. Your smile is as bright as the glittering knife was, but not so deadly – not for Eiji. You tuck your hands into the pockets of your coat, letting your fringe fall into your eyes, and smile behind it.

"Hello, Eiji. I got your message," you say.

He bites his lip and grins, sauntering over to you. The bright, autumn-coloured hair slips over his cheeks as he jumps up onto a step, avoiding the tangle of a broken table and chair in the alley. He's wearing what he calls his uniform. He's plain clothes, but that rust-red jacket and the black trousers that give him room to move are his usual costume when he thinks he might have to fight. That's your second hint that tonight is about more than catching up with a childhood friend.

Your first hint was Eiji's voice over the phone, conscious and half-laughing as he asked you to meet him.

He reaches you and slings an arm over your shoulder, a warm weight. "You're still short, Fuji," he laughs, reaching over to ruffle your hair. You slip out from under his arm, stepping back and narrowing your eyes to gleaming slits while you examine him.

"You look well," you say, relaxing.

"Nn," he says, raking his eyes over you. He dips his eyelashes, grinning again. "I like your coat! I bet it swishes when you swing around." He looks up again and winks. "I'm pretending I don't know how many concealed weapons you're carrying under it."

You just smile. He doesn't expect an answer, of course.

He props his head against your shoulder, hair sliding soft against your cheek as he drops his arm around your shoulder again. "Come on, this place is great," he says. "We haven't had a drink together in months."

You laugh, the sound sunny in the dusk-lit alley. You let him tug you along. "That's because the last time we had a drink you twisted your ankle trying to somersault from the top of a fountain," you tease.

"Fuji, don't be mean," he says, hitting you with his elbow. But there's the hint of a smirk in his mouth as he tilts his head away again.

The bar is thinly populated, given that it's so early; you assume there's a reason Eiji arranged for you to be here at this time, though you don't ask. It's already shadowed, though, the warm, dim lighting probably hiding the scars on the walls. The patrons, the few that there are, look like people who wouldn't be afraid to cause a few more scars of one kind or another, if they had good reason to. They're not roughly dressed, but their eyes are hard, and warily lidded.

You tilt your head, smiling, and push your hands into your pockets. Your hair slides into your eyes again. You know that you don't look at all intimidating like this.

Eiji tugs you to a table in an especially shadowed corner. You don't miss the quick scan he gives the room, pausing at every face, before he relaxes and flops into the seat opposite you. Then he pops back up onto his feet, calling over his shoulder, "I'll get the first drinks!"

You watch him flirting with the barkeeper, with that irresistible charm that serves him so well when he's undercover. You wonder whether he's actually on duty, or if this is a more informal outing. Probably the latter. You suspect that whatever he's here for, he's following a hunch that he's been forbidden to follow up for some reason by his superior. Eiji's never been one to openly oppose authority, but he usually does what he wants anyway. That's been true since you were both young enough that the price of being caught in mischief was detention and a stern lecture.

The price is a lot higher these days, but you suspect that Eiji's attitude towards it is much the same.

You slide lower in your seat, keeping your gaze sleepy as you scan the bar again, memorising the exits and obstacles, making idle judgments about each of the patrons. The young woman in the far corner looks as though she may snap in the wrong way if there's trouble, but Eiji's eyes didn't hesitate over her, so she's probably not involved in whatever he's here for. The man with her isn't focusing on anything but his companion's legs, long and black in sheer stockings beneath her red dress. The pining, pained devotion in his eyes might be affecting, but the girl is obviously disgusted. She flicks his cheek with her thumb nail, forcing him to look up, and he does, flushing.

The lines of energy that you slide a knife along, the glittering spaces in the air, aren't as mysterious as the spaces between people. Eiji, leaning over the bar, never seems to notice those spaces as he casually invades them, but you've never been able to see past them. You can spin a knife, a gleaming trail in the air, through any space you can see, down any path. But you can't follow it. You can't cross to another person.

The red-dressed woman and her companion don't even notice the lines as they manoeuvre around them in an intricate dance.

There are two men at the bar, a little way down from where Eiji is giving the barkeeper a cheeky smile as he turns around. They're already unsteady on their stools, though, and your eyes skim over them.

There are another four men and a woman in another corner, three of them watching while two play shogi on a board set up between them, but Eiji's eyes didn't hesitate over them either.

The man on the couch by the door with the furry black buzz-cut is checking his watch, his forehead falling into anxious lines.

Eiji slips back into the seat opposite, sliding a drink over to you. It's a dangerous blue colour and it hisses when liquid sloshes against the rim. Eiji grins at you, waiting, and you oblige by tipping the drink to your mouth. It's a burn in your throat, unpalatably sharp. You hum, enjoying it.

Eiji flops his chin onto his hands, his grin widening as he watches you. "The barkeeper didn't believe me when I said I wanted that," he confides, delighted. "He said it strips the skin from your throat! I knew you'd like it."

"Thank you," you say. You look at the drink, your tone casual. "The man by the door is waiting for somebody."

Eiji's expression flickers, and his eyes flick to the buzz-cut man, narrowing for a moment, then back to you. "Oh?" he says.

You look up, your smile bright and unquestioning once more.

"Hoi," he says, his eyes sliding away from yours. His cheeks are pink. "Don't say anything or I'll be sacked, all right?"

You just shake your head, because as if you would. He meets your smile, trying to ruffle your hair again and laughing when you catch his wrist.

"I heard some gossip around the station," he says, taking a sip of his own tamer and less alcoholic drink. "About how they captured the Riza circle." His eyes flick to you. "They're trying to keep it quiet, but that was you, wasn't it? I recognised your style."

The door opens and another three men come in. They come into your line of sight, joining the man with the buzz-cut. The buzz-cut man relaxes, and gives one of the others – a man with gelled dark hair – a cautiously respectful nod. Their greetings are too low to hear.

Eiji's eyes flick to them, then carefully away. "Give," he says, looking back at you with a grin.

"There weren't that many of them in the circle," you say. You tilt your drink, swirling the liquid against the glass.

Eiji chokes. "Only twenty or so," he says. "Nya, Fuji." You look up and he's watching you, his expression oddly sorrowful. "I know you think the city needs a protector, but – is it going to be you forever?"

Eiji doesn't look serious very often. His eyes seem very large as they pin you, and you don't know what to say. That you couldn't stop if you wanted to, maybe. That it's part of you, a part you couldn't tear away now.

"Yuuta's been dead a long time," Eiji says. "It can't be just about him any more."

"It's not," you say. You clear your throat. "It's personal, Eiji." You keep your gaze steady and clear, and Eiji's eyes widen a little in response. "I don't have a very strong sense of abstract justice. That's for you, and your colleagues. But I – take every act personally, every time I go out there. That's what Yuuta's death gave me."

Eiji looks down at the table, then back up at you. "Doesn't it get lonely?" he asks.

You shrug, looking away. When you look back you're smiling again, warm and bright. Eiji rolls his eyes, but then his gaze is caught by something over your shoulder: more people coming into the bar. His expression tightens. You slip lower, tilting your chin until you can catch a glimpse of them. The man in front has a clipped, grey beard and a military bearing. You frown, placing him after a moment. Minagi Hayato, from the central police command. Definitely Eiji's superior.

He's not alone. There are three men behind him, two of them with the blank faces and careful movements of bodyguards – or another kind of hired weapon, perhaps.

The third is younger, his face blank in a different way. His eyes are almost sightless, and he sways a little as he walks. His hair is a tangle of elf-locks, black and wild. You can't decide whether he should, properly, be dangerous, or sweetly scrappy.

Maybe both. He shouldn't be blank-eyed and passive, though; you're quite sure of that.

"Nara," Minagi says, his voice low and pleasantly gruff. The gelled man quickly gets to his feet, answering in a voice too quiet to be heard. His eyes slide between Minagi and the younger man with the queerly blank face. That one doesn't react to the greetings at all.

Eiji is looking at his fingernails. His mouth barely moves as he says, almost too quietly to hear, "The one you're looking at is Kirihara Akaya. His family holds a license that the Sensi Corporation wants. Akaya's been spending all of his time with ... people connected to Sensi, in the last few days, and his only contact with his family has been two phone calls to suggest that they sell the license. His family insist that he's behaving oddly and that they haven't been allowed to see him, but because he's not a minor, he hasn't disappeared, and he's making no complaints, there'll be no investigation.

He doesn't need to add that Minagi is one of those people with connections to Sensi, or that there has been pressure from inside the department to disregard the family's complaints.

He doesn't need to point out that Kirihara Akaya is currently drugged, either.

"Mm," you say, your eyes drifting most of the way closed.

Eiji gives you a quick, searching look.

Then he rises and starts towards the door, his mouth shifting into a sweet, surprised smile as he goes. His hand touches your collar as he passes, and you know him well enough to know that he's telling you that whatever part you take in this is up to you. He's never tried to direct your movements, or use you as formal backup. Eiji's a lot smarter than that. And he knows _you_ well enough to know that you were going to make yourself involved, when you saw those glazed, passive eyes. Kidnappers deserve no mercy at all.

"Minagi-san!" Eiji says behind you, his voice bright. "What a surprise to see you here, sir!"

"Kikumaru-san," Minagi replies. His tone is repressive. "What brings you here? You're not still on duty, I hope?"

"Nope," you hear Eiji reply, cheekily informal. "Just having a drink. You, sir?" You're facing in the other direction, slipping out of your seat and towards the exit at the rear, but you imagine his eyes sliding to Nara and Kirihara and the others, open and innocent. "Is it a business meeting? You have corporate interests, don't you, sir?"

"Quite," Minagi grits out. You smile to yourself, slipping out the back door and hovering there. "If you're here for pleasure, I would not wish to keep you from your companion." The voice is distant now, but still audible.

"Oh, I think he's gone to the bathroom," you hear Eiji reply vaguely. "This isn't as nice a place as I'd hoped, actually, sir. I hope there's not a bar fight or something." You can almost see the wide eyes accompanying the comment. "I'd _have_ to go on duty then, you know, to keep the peace."

You open your eyes, a gleam in the dimness, and slip down the alley.

These are your favourite times, you sometimes think. The night air is cuttingly cold on your mouth; your hair soaks up the cold, feathering light, icy touches on your neck, the tip of your nose. The uneven paving of the alley is quiet under your boots. The hem of your coat swishes about your ankles as you move.

It's only twenty minutes later that Kirihara comes back out of the bar, accompanied by four men now. Two of them have him half-propped between them, his elbows supported as his feet shuffle against the pavement.

You step out of the dimness, halfway down the alley they've just turned in to. You have your hands tucked deep into your pockets, your shoulders a gentle curve in your coat.

None of the five men outlined against the end of the alley are Minagi, but you recognise the man he greeted as Nara. Clearly the meeting tonight was for a minder changeover.

Kirihara is swaying gently.

"You," Nara says, his voice harsh in the quiet night. "What are you doing in there?"

You step forward. Your hair is a shine in the darkness, against your collar. You push your hands deeper into your pockets and look up to smile, sweet and piercing-bright.

"My name's Fuji Syusuuke," you say.

Three of the men stiffen. One, standing in the vague illumination of an upper window, pales noticeably.

"Get yourself together," Nara growls at his companions. "He's messing with you. Tell me you fools don't believe in street tales." Nara flicks his head at you. "Look at him. He looks like a boy. And he's just smiling; he's barely got his eyes open."

You do open your eyes then.

Nara shifts, uneasily. "Just push past him and get the kid out of here," he says. "He'll be waking up soon, and I don't know about you but _I'm_ not dealing with him if he goes demon and tries to escape again. Take his arm."

You take another step forward. Your posture is different now: your head up, your eyes all the way open. Your mouth looks as though you've never smiled.

"I don't think that he wants to go with you," you say. This is a voice that Eiji, and your other friends, have never heard. It's clear and deadly, and although you still don't take your hands out of your pockets, one of the men takes a step back. "I think you should take your hands off him," you continue.

Nara narrows his eyes. "You talk big for an unarmed kid," he says.

One of the men holding Kirihara shifts, his movements betraying his nervousness. "If he's Fuji Syusuuke then he's not un–"

"I told you that I don't believe street tales!" Nara interrupts, his eyes wide.

Kirihara makes a little sighing sound, inky curls falling into his eyes as he shifts, restless, against the arms holding his elbows. "Not like that," he mutters, his words slurred.

"I've had enough," Nara says, a hand going to the inside pocket of his jacket.

He hasn't even finished withdrawing the gun when the first flash of steel cuts through the air. The gun goes off as it clatters out of his hand, the retort as the bullet hits the stone wall behind him drowning out his curse.

The others shout and pull out their guns, dropping Kirihara's arms to fire down the alley.

The next knives are already slipping into your palms, though, and you can feel their paths like trails of silver fire before they leave your hands. You twist, throwing the third knife over your shoulder, feeling the spin it takes. The blade flashes, end over end, a fourth blade following. The motion is too swift for the eye to follow, but the high singing cracks as steel dances against bullets, flinging them out of the air, is unmistakable.

In the silence following you hear one of the men start to sob. "He's a magician. No man can knock bullets out of the air with a _knife_."

"He's not a mage," his companion answers, his voice grim. "He's a fucking demon."

You can't hear anything more after that, because there's gunfire again. The noise has drawn the other patrons from the bar. There's swearing, a confusion of scuffling, and more gunshots.

You can make the blades dance, smooth arcs that dip and dive lethally back into the alley – but you're not immortal. You slip into the narrow gap between two buildings, a sort of alcove, and press yourself back against the warm body already waiting there.

Eiji grins at you. "Che," he murmurs. "You didn't look as though you wanted any help."

"I didn't," you say with a small smile, pressing yourself closer as a bullet whips by, too close.

Eiji lets out his breath in a laugh that's part gasp. "You looked good," he says. Pressed close in the alley, his head drops to rest against your cheek as more shots ring out.

"Thank you!" Your smile has a laugh in it.

"Mm," Eiji says. His hair is still a soft drag against your cheek, and his body has become a more yielding line. He looks up. "Nya, Fujiko," he says quietly, his eyes very dark. "Sometimes I think you don't even know how hot you are."

You gape at him. He turns his head and presses his mouth against yours with a sudden determined motion. Your own mouth falls open in surprise and he makes a tiny, breath-hitching sound as he licks inside. His hands come up to wind in your hair, over your chilled ears.

You're frozen. Eiji's lips are soft, and his body is lean under his jacket, pressed up against yours. He's close up against you, but there's still a gap – you feel it like a yawning emptiness between you. You have no idea how you'd cross that space. You have no idea if you could want to.

Eiji leans back, slowly. He drops his lashes, giving you a very lazy smile. Shots and panicked voices are still ringing out in the alley behind you.

"What," you say, and can't finish the question.

"Mm," Eiji says, voice low. "I've been wanting to do that for years." You can feel the queer, blind expression on your face; you're not used to it. Eiji laughs and moves back. "It's all right: I know. Spaces, ne? I just couldn't resist. And," his smile takes on a wicked edge, "I knew that if it was me, you probably wouldn't actually kill me for it."

You can't quite answer yet, so you close your eyes into a smile, cautiously relaxing. Eiji cranes past you to sneak a look into the alley.

"Hoi," he says, letting his breath out, "it's turning into a bar fight! It looks like good officers of the law should be doing something to keep the peace, don't you think? I'll have to go on _duty_."

He's right: the other patrons have reacted badly to the sight of all the weapons and fired guns. The little group at the mouth of the alley is trying to flush Fuji out and cover its back at the same time.

"True," you say. "What a shame. On your night off, too."

Eiji grins. He slips past you, vanishing down a thin side street that will get him out into the open street in front of the bar.

You reach up and grasp a windowsill above you. Your feet leave the alley.

From above, navigating the roof as soundlessly as a cat, you can see the tangled mess the fight has become. The woman in the red dress you thought might be trouble is the only one you can spot not actually taking part. She's sitting on a windowsill, watching the fighting with narrowed eyes as she files her nails. Even the drunks from the bar are throwing punches. A few people have joined in who weren't in the bar at all.

You see Eiji stride openly out into the street. He ducks a wild punch, twisting the man's arm up behind his back and shoving him away. Then Eiji's face brightens and he waves a hand above his head. "My backup!" he calls, his voice clear and happy. "Oishi, you were cutting it fine!"

You spot Eiji's partner striding forward with two uniformed officers behind him. His face breaks into relieved lines as he sees Eiji.

Eiji ducks under a knife and jabs his elbow into the man's stomach, rolling over his assailant's back in the same movement. He catches himself on Oishi's shoulder as the other reaches him. They clasp hands for a moment, and then they're turning to the fray.

They fight like dance partners. Eiji flips and rolls, his movements as lithe and acrobatic as a tiger's. Oishi somehow knows exactly where he's going to be, and how to cover all the places he leaves open.

There are no spaces between them. There's just warmth and connection – something stronger than understanding. They move as though the swirling lines around them tie them together, rather than keeping them apart.

Eiji gives Oishi a victory sign as Oishi flips a man onto his back and steps over him.

They've neutralised a good part of the street in the time it takes the two uniforms to stop blinking and wade in.

You creep along until you're directly above the small knot of men in the mouth of the alley. One of them is down, already, clutching his leg, and the others look harried and the worse for wear. Only Kirihara looks as though he's suffered no harm.

You swing down lightly, one knife leaving your hand before your feet touch the paving stones. It pins Nara to the wall, the blade twisting the cloth of his shirt hard against his windpipe, caught fast in both cloth and the wall behind him. His eyes fly wide, but the collar is too tight to allow him to speak.

Another knife is against the throat of one of the men still holding Kirihara before he can turn to face you. He gulps, his hands tightening around Kirihara's elbow, and tries to slide his eyes over so that he can see you.

The third man – the one with the soft buzz-cut from the bar – stares at you over his friend's shoulder. He swallows, his grip on Kirihara's other shoulder going slack, and slides to his knees.

"No," he breathes. "Fuji-san, no."

"I think I said before," you say, your eyes clear and cold, "that it didn't look as though Kirihara-san wanted to go with you. Perhaps you should let go of his arm."

The man whose throat is under your knife hesitates for a long second in which the blade presses gradually harder. Then he lets go in a rush, his shoulders dropping.

Kirihara stands for a moment, his hair in his eyes.

"Kirihara-san?" you ask.

He tilts his head up, the curls tumbling off his forehead. Then he ducks, driving his fist into the stomach of the man who just released him.

Afterwards he turns and does the same to the wide-eyed man behind him, already on his knees on the paving stones.

You slide the gun out of your gasping captive's hand and step away form him. He throws up on the ground. You retrieve the other man's weapon and turn to look at Kirihara, your eyes thoughtful.

Beyond the mouth of the alley, the fight is winding down. You hear Eiji's triumphant shout and the dull thud of a body hitting the ground and rolling.

"There are policemen out in the street," you say, clicking the safeties on the guns and tucking them inside your coat. You push your hands into your pockets and look back at Kirihara, smiling. "You should think about going and introducing yourself to them. They'll take you home, and ask you for a statement when your head clears."

He tilts his head to the side, the motion bird-like and a little hungry. "Are you really Fuji Syusuuke?"

You smile more brightly, but don't answer.

Beyond the alley the fight has finished. Eiji is stepping jauntily over a slumped form, pulling out his badge. "Kirihara-san?" he calls. "Are you in there?"

At Eiji's shoulder, Oishi sweeps the alley with his eyes. You know you're an uncertain figure in the darkness, but his gaze hesitates on you anyway. Then it moves on as, embarrassed, he pretends not to know that his partner has been consorting with a vigilante again.

"Kirihara-san, are you all right?" he calls instead.

You give Kirihara a last smile and turn on your heel, the coat flipping about your ankles.

"Wait!" Kirihara calls.

You're used to not answering that kind of call.

"_Wait_," Kirihara calls again, his voice sounding young now. "You can't be him!"

You slip out of the end of the alley, your coat flipping against the corner.

The night is cold in your chest, painful and bright and as beautiful as glass. There's a fierce happiness in being out here, in the flashing steel spinning as you toss a knife between your hands, catching the light. You can feel the space around you, clean and clear. Lines and space, spaces and lines, marked out by the flashes of steel. The warmth between Eiji and Oishi can't compare with it.

You smile, your eyes almost all the way closed, and let the spinning blade blur in your sight.

Maybe you could step out of this space if you wanted to, or maybe you couldn't (maybe you don't work that way). But you don't want to.

You catch the knife behind your back, a careful flick of your wrist. Tucking it into your belt, you stride on into the night.


End file.
